Page images
PDF
EPUB

a person of quality. I will therefore bear my disgrace like a great man, and let the people see I am above an affront. [Aloud.] Dear Tom, since things are thus fallen out, prithee give me leave to wish thee joy. I do it de bon cœur-strike me dumb! You have married a woman beautiful in her person, charming in her airs, prudent in her conduct, constant in her inclinations, and of a nice morality-split my windpipe l'

The young lady thus eulogised, Miss Hoyden, is the lively, ignorant, romping country girl to be met with in most of the comedies of this period. In the 'Provoked Wife,' the coarse pot-house valour and absurdity of Sir John Brute (Garrick's famous part) is well contrasted with the fine-lady airs and affectation of his wife, transported from the country to the hot-bed delicacies of London fashion and extravagance. Such were the scenes that delighted our play-going ancestors, and which still please us, like old stiff family portraits in their grotesque habiliments, as pictures of a departed generation.

These portraits of Vanbrugh's were exaggerated and heightened for dramatic effect; yet, on the whole, they are faithful and characteristic likenesses. The picture is not altogether a pleasing one, for it is dashed with the most unblushing licentiousness. A tone of healthful vivacity, and the absence of all hypocrisy, form its most genial feature. The license of the times,' as Mr Leigh Hunt remarks, 'allowed Vanbrugh to be plain spoken to an extent which was perilous to his animal spirits;' but, like Dryden, he repented of these indiscretions; and if he had lived, would have united his easy wit and nature to scenes inculcating sentiments of honour and virtue.

[Picture of the Life of a Woman of Fashion.]

[ocr errors]

[Sir JOHN BRUTE, in the Provoked Wife,' disguised in his lady's dress, joins in a drunken midnight frolic, and is taken by the Constable and Watchmen before a Justice of the Peace.] Justice. Pray, madam, what may be your ladyship's common method of life? if I may presume so far.

Sir John. Why, sir, that of a woman of quality. Justice. Pray, how may you generally pass your time, madam? Your morning, for example?

Sir John. Sir, like a woman of quality. I wake about two o'clock in the afternoon-I stretch, and make a sign for my chocolate. When I have drank three cups, I slide down again upon my back, with my arms over my head, while my two maids put on my stockings. Then, hanging upon their shoulders, I'm trailed to my great chair, where I sit and yawn for my breakfast. If it don't come presently, I lie down upon my couch, to say my prayers, while my maid reads me the playbills.

Justice. Very well, madam.

Sir John. When the tea is brought in, I drink twelve regular dishes, with eight slices of bread and butter; and half an hour after, I send to the cook to know if the dinner is almost ready.

[blocks in formation]

pretty well disposed of. Pray, how, madam, do you pass your evenings?

Sir John. Like a woman of spirit, sir; a great spirit. Give me a box and dice. Seven's the main! Oons, sir, I set you a hundred pound! Why, do you think women are married now-a-days to sit at home and mend napkins? Oh, the Lord help your head! Justice. Mercy on us, Mr Constable! What will this age come to?

Const. What will it come to indeed, if such women as these are not set in the stocks!

Fable.

A Band, a Bob-wig, and a Feather,
Attacked a lady's heart together.
The Band in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,
Told her if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take, instead
Of vigorous youth,

Old solemn truth,
With books and morals, into bed,
How happy she would be!
The Bob he talked of management,
What wondrous blessings heaven sent
On care, and pains, and industry:
And truly he must be so free
To own he thought your airy beaux,
With powdered wig and dancing shoes,
Were good for nothing-mend his soul!
But prate, and talk, and play the fool.
He said 'twas wealth gave joy and mirth,
And that to be the dearest wife
Of one who laboured all his life
To make a mine of gold his own,
And not spend sixpence when he'd done,
Was heaven upon earth.

When these two blades had done, d'ye see,
The Feather (as it might be me)
Steps out, sir, from behind the screen,
With such an air and such a mien-
Like you, old gentleman-in short,
He quickly spoiled the statesman's sport.
It proved such sunshine weather,
That you must know, at the first beck
The lady leaped about his neck,
And off they went together!

GEORGE FARQUHAR.

GEORGE FARQUHAR was a better artist, in stage effect and happy combinations of incident and cha racter, than any of this race of comic writers. He has an uncontrollable vivacity and love of adventure, which still render his comedies attractive both on the stage and in the closet. Farquhar was an Irishman, born in Londonderry in 1678, and, after sone college irregularity, he took to the stage. Happening accidentally to wound a brother actor in a fencing scene, he left the boards at the age of eighteen, and procured a commission in the army from the Earl of Orrery. His first play, Lore and a Bottle, came out at Drury Lane in 1698; the Constant Couple in 1700; the Inconstant in 1703; the Stage-Coach in 1704; the Twin Rivals in 1705; the Recruiting Officer in 1706; and the Beaur' Stratagem in 1707. Farquhar was early married to a lady who had deceived him by pretending to be possessed of a fortune, and he sunk a victim to ill health and over exertion in his thirtieth year. A letter written shortly before his death to Wilks the actor, possesses a touching brevity of expression:- Dear Bob, I have not anything to leave thee to perpetuate my memory but two helpless girls.

Look upon them sometimes, and think of him that was to the last moment of his life thine-GEORGE FARQUHAR.' One of these daughters, it appears, married a low tradesman,' and the other became a servant, while their mother died in circumstances of the utmost indigence.

The Beaux' Stratagem' is Farquhar's best comedy. The plot is admirably managed, and the disguises of Archer and Aimwell form a ludicrous, yet natural series of incidents. Boniface, the landlord, is still one of our best representatives of the English innkeeper, and there is genius as well as truth in the delineation. Scrub, the servant, is equally true and amusing; and the female characters, though as free spoken, if not as frail as the fine-bred ladies of Congreve and Vanbrugh, are sufficiently discriminated. Sergeant Kite, in the Recruiting Officer,' is an original picture of low life and humour rarely surpassed. Farquhar has not the ripe wit of Congreve, or of our best comic writers. He was the Smollett, not the Fielding of the stage. His characters are lively; and there is a quick succession of incidents, so amusing and so happily contrived to interest the audience, that the spectator is charmed with the variety and vivacity of the scene.

Farquhar,' says Leigh Hunt, was a good-natured, sensitive, reflecting man, of so high an order of what may be called the town class of genius, as to sympathise with mankind at large upon the strength of what he saw of them in little, and to extract from a

Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.

Bon. As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children: I'll show you such ale. Here, tapster, broach number 1706, as the saying is. Sir, you shall taste my anno domini. I have lived in Litchfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty years, and I believe have not consumed eight-and-fifty ounces of meat. Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess by your bulk?

Bon. Not in my life, sir; I have fed purely upon ale: I have ate my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon my ale.

Enter Tapster with a Tankard.

Now, sir, you shall see -Your worship's health: [Drinks]-Ha! delicious, delicious: fancy it Burgundy; only fancy it-and 'tis worth ten shillings a quart.

Aim. [Drinks] 'Tis confounded strong.

Bon. Strong! it must be so, or how would we be strong that drink it?

Aim. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?

Bon. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sir; but it killed my wife, poor woman, as the saying is. Aim. How came that to pass?

ale take its natural course, sir; she was for qualifying Bon. I don't know how, sir; she would not let the it every now and then with a dram, as the saying is; and an honest gentleman, that came this way from Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh-but the poor woman was never well after; but, however, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed her? did what could be done: she cured her of three Bon. My Lady Bountiful said so. She, good lady, tympanies: but the fourth carried her off: but she's happy, and I'm contented, as the saying is.

quintessence of good sense an inspiration just short of the romantic and imaginative; that is to say, he could turn what he had experienced in common life to the best account, but required in all cases the support of its ordinary associations, and could not project his spirit beyond them. He felt the little world too much, and the universal too little. He saw into all false pretensions, but not into all true ones; and if he had had a larger sphere of nature to fall back upon in his adversity, would probably not have died of it. The wings of his fancy were too common, and grown in too artificial an air, to support him in the sudden gulfs and aching voids of that new region, and enable him to beat his way to their green islands. His genius was so entirely social, that notwithstanding what appeared to the contrary in his personal manners, and what he took for his own superiority to it, compelled him to assume in his writings all the airs of the most received town ascendency; and when Bon. Yes, sir, she has a daughter by Sir Charles; it had once warmed itself in this way, it would seem the finest woman in all our county, and the greatest that it had attained the healthiness natural to its fortune. She has a son, too, by her first husband, best condition, and could have gone on for ever, in- 'Squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London creasing both in enjoyment and in power, had exter-t'other day; if you please, sir, we'll drink his health nal circumstances been favourable. He was becoming gayer and gayer, when death, in the shape of a sore anxiety, called him away as if from a pleasant party, and left the house ringing with his jest.'

[Humorous Scene at an Inn.]

BONIFACE-AIMWELL.

Bon. This way, this way, sir.

Aim. Who's that Lady Bountiful you mentioned? [Drinks]-My Lady Bountiful is one of the best of Bon. Odds my life, sir, we'll drink her health: left her worth a thousand pounds a-year; and I bewomen. Her last husband, Sir Charles Bountiful, lieve she lays out one-half on't in charitable uses for the good of her neighbours.

Aim. Has the lady any children?

[Drinks.]

Aim. What sort of a man is he?

Bon. Why, sir, the man's well enough: says little, thinks less, and does nothing at all, faith; but he's a man of great estate, and values nobody.

Aim. A sportsman, I suppose?

Bon. Yes, he's a man of pleasure; he plays at whist, and smokes his pipe eight-and-forty hours together sometimes.

Aim. A fine sportsman, truly!—and married, you

Aim. You're my landlord, I suppose? Bon. Yes, sir, I'm old Will Boniface; pretty well say? known upon this road, as the saying is.

Aim. Oh, Mr Boniface, your servant.

Bon. Oh, sir, what will your honour please to drink, as the saying is?

Aim. I have heard your town of Litchfield much famed for ale; I think I'll taste that.

Bon. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire: 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy, and will be just fourteen years old the fifth day of next March, old style.

Bon. Ay; and to a curious woman, sir. But he's my landlord, and so a man, you know, would notSir, my humble service [Drinks.] Though I value not a farthing what he can do to me; I pay him his rent at quarter-day; I have a good running trade; I have but one daughter, and I can give her but no matter for that.

Aim. You're very happy, Mr Boniface: pray, what other company have you in town?

Bon. A power of fine ladies; and then we have the French officers.

Aim. Oh, that's right; you have a good many of those gentlemen; pray, how do you like their company!

Bon. So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had as many more of 'em. They're full of money, and pay double for everything they have. They know, sir, that we paid good round taxes for the making of 'em; and so they are willing to reimburse us a little; one of 'em lodges in my house [Bell rings.] I beg your worship's pardon ; I'll wait on you in half

minute.

[From the Recruiting Officer.]

SCENE-The Market-Place.

Drum beats the Grenadier's March. Enter SERGEANT KITE, followed by THOMAS APPLETREE, COSTAR PEARMAIN, and the Mos.

Kite [Making a speech.] If any gentlemen, soldiers, or others, have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull down the French king; if any 'prentices have severe masters, any children have undutiful parents; if any servants have too little wages, or any husband a bad wife, let them repair to the noble Sergeant Kite, at the sign of the Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury, and they shall receive present relief and entertainment. [Drum.] Gentlemen, I don't beat my drums here to ensnare or inveigle any man; for you must know, gentlemen, that I am a man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers grenadiers, gentlemen. Pray, gentlemen, observe this cap-this is the cap of honourit dubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a trigger; and he that has the good fortune to be born six foot high, was born to be a great man. Sir, will you give me leave to try this cap upon your head?

Cust. Is there no harm in't! Wont the cap list

me!

Kite. No, no; no more than I can. Come, let me see how it becomes you.

Cost. Are you sure there is no conjuration in it?— no gunpowder plot upon me!

Kite. No, no, friend; don't fear, man.

Cost. My mind misgives me plaguily. Let me see it. [Going to put it on.] It smells woundily of sweat and brimstone. Smell, Tummas.

Tho. Ay, wauns does it.

Cost. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my penny with the best he that wears a head; that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a fair way.

Kite. Give me your hand, then; and now, gentlemen, I have no more to say but this-here's a purse of gold, and there is a tub of humming ale at my quarters; 'tis the king's money and the king's drink; he's a generous king, and loves his subjects. I hope, gentlemen, you wont refuse the king's health? All Mob. No, no, no. Kite. Huzza, then honour of Shropshire. All Mob. Huzza! Kite. Beat drum.

huzza for the king and the

[Exeunt shouting. Drum beating the Grenadier's March.

SCENE-The Street.

Enter KITE, with CoStar Pearmain în one hand, and
THOMAS APPLETREE in the other, drunk.
KITE Sings.

Our 'prentice Tom may now refuse
To wipe his scoundrel master's shoes,
For now he's free to sing and play
Over the hills and far away.

Over, &c. [The mob sing the chorus.

We shall lead more happy lives
By getting rid of brats and wives,
That scold and brawl both night and day,
Over the hills and far away.
Over, &c.

Kite. Hey, boys! thus we soldiers live! drink, sing, dance, play; we live, as one should say we live-'tis impossible to tell how we live-we are all princes; why, why you are a king, you are an emperor, and I'm a prince; now, an't we?

Tho. No, sergeant; I'll be no emperor.
Kite. No!

Tho. I'll be a justice-of-peace.
Kite. A justice-of-peace, man!

Tho. Ay, wauns will I; for since this pressing act, they are greater than any emperor under the sun. Kite. Done; you are a justice-of-peace, and you are

Cost. Pray, sergeant, what writing is this upon the a king, and I'm a duke, and a rum duke; an't I? face of it!

Kite. The crown, or the bed of honour.

Cost. Pray now, what may be that same bed of honour!

Kite. Oh, a mighty large bed !—bigger by half than the great bed at Ware-ten thousand people may lie in it together, and never feel one another.

Cost. But do folk sleep sound in this same bed of honour?

Kite. Sound!-ay, so sound that they never wake.
Cost. Wauns! I wish that my wife lay there.
Kite. Say you so? then I find, brother-

Cost. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no kindred to you that I know of yet. Look ye, sergeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see. If I have a mind to list, why, so; if not, why, 'tis not so; therefore take your cap and your brothership back again, for I am not disposed at this present writing. No coaxing, no brothering me, faith.

Kite. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it, sir; I have served twenty campaigns; but, sir, you talk well, and I must own you are a man every inch of you; a pretty, young, sprightly fellow! I love a fellow with a spirit; but I scorn to coax: 'tis base; though, I must say, that never in my life have I seen a man better built. How firm and strong he treads!-he steps like a castle-but I scorn to wheedle any man! Come, honest lad! will you take share of a pot?

Cost. I'll be a queen.

Kite. A queen!

Cost. Ay, of England; that's greater than any king of them all.

Kite. Bravely said, faith! Huzza for the queen. [Huzza.] But harkye, you Mr Justice, and you Mr Queen, did you ever see the king's picture? Both. No, no, no.

Kite. I wonder at that; I have two of them set in gold, and as like his majesty; God bless the mark! -see here, they are set in gold.

[Takes two broad pieces out of his pocket; presents one to each. Tho. The wonderful works of nature!

[Looking at it. What's this written about? here's a posy, I believe. Ca-ro-lus! what's that, sergeant!

Kite. Oh, Carolus? why, Carolus is Latin for King George; that's all.

Cost. 'Tis a fine thing to be a scollard. Sergeant, will you part with this! I'll buy it on you, if it come within the compass of a crown.

Kite. A crown! never talk of buying; 'tis the same thing among friends, you know. I'll present them to ye both: you shall give me as good a thing. Put them up, and remember your old friend when I sm over the hills and far away.

[They sing, and put up the money.

[blocks in formation]

Tho. Why, captain, we know that you soldiers have more liberty of conscience than other folks; but for me or neighbour Costar here to take such an oath, 'twould be downright perjuration.

Plume. Look ye, rascal, you villain! if I find that you have imposed upon these two honest fellows, I'll trample you to death, you dog! Come, how was it? Tho. Nay, then, we'll speak. Your sergeant, as you say, is a rogue; an't like your worship, begging your worship's pardon; and

Cost. Nay, Tummas, let me speak; you know I can read. And so, sir, he gave us those two pieces of money for pictures of the king, by way of a pre

Tho. And I'se scarcely doff mine for any captain in sent. England. My vether's a freeholder.

Plume. Who are those jolly lads, sergeant?

Kite. A couple of honest brave fellows, that are willing to serve their king: I have entertained them just now as volunteers, under your honour's command. Plume. And good entertainment they shall have volunteers are the men I want; those are the men fit to make soldiers, captains, generals.

Cost. Wounds, Tummas, what's this! are you listed?
Tho. Flesh! not I: are you, Costar?
Cost. Wounds! not I.

Kite. What! not listed? ha, ha, ha! a very good jest, i'faith.

Cost. Come, Tummas, we'll go home.
Tho. Ay, ay, come.

Kite. Home! for shame, gentlemen; behave yourselves better before your captain. Dear Thomas ! honest Costar!

Tho. No, no; we'll be gone.

Kite. Nay, then, I command you to stay: I place you both sentinels in this place for two hours, to watch the motion of St Mary's clock you, and you the motion of St Chad's; and he that dares stir from his post till he be relieved, shall have my sword in his belly the next minute.

Plume. What's the matter, sergeant? I'm afraid you are too rough with these gentlemen.

Kite. I'm too mild, sir; they disobey command, sir; and one of them should be shot for an example to the other. They deny their being listed.

Tho. Nay, sergeant, we don't downright deny it neither; that we dare not do, for fear of being shot; but we humbly conceive, in a civil way, and begging your worship's pardon, that we may go home.

Plume. That's easily known. Have either of you received any of the king's money?

Cost. Not a brass farthing, sir.

Kite. They have each of them received one and twenty shillings, and 'tis now in their pockets.

Cost. Wounds! if I have a penny in my pocket but a bent sixpence, I'll be content to be listed and shot into the bargain.

Tho. And I look ye here, sir.

Cost. Nothing but the king's picture, that the sergeant gave me just now.

Kite. See there, a guinea; one-and-twenty shillings; 'tother has the fellow on't.

Plume. The case is plain, gentlemen: the goods are found upon you. Those pieces of gold are worth oneand-twenty shillings each.

Cost. So, it seems that Carolus is one-and-twenty shillings in Latin?

Tho. "Tis the same thing in Greek, for we are listed.

Cost. Flesh; but we an't, Tummas: I desire to be carried before the mayor, captain.

[Captain and Sergeant whisper the while. Plume. Twill never do, Kite; your tricks will ruin me at last. I wont lose the fellows though, if I can help it. Well, gentlemen, there must be some trick in this; my sergeant offers to take his oath that you are fairly listed.

Plume. How? by way of a present? the rascal! I'll teach him to abuse honest fellows like you. Scoundrel, rogue, villain! [Beats of the Sergeant, and follows. Both. O brave noble captain! huzza! A brave captain, faith!

Cost. Now, Tummas, Carolus is Latin for a beating. This is the bravest captain I ever saw. Wounds! I've a month's mind to go with him.

Enter PLUME.

Plume. A dog, to abuse two such honest fellows as you. Look ye, gentlemen, I love a pretty fellow; I come among you as an officer to list soldiers, not as a kidnapper to steal slaves.

Cost. Mind that, Tummas.

Plume. I desire no man to go with me, but as I went myself. I went a volunteer, as you or you may do now; for a little time carried a musket, and now 1 command a company.

Tho. Mind that, Costar. A sweet gentleman. Plume. 'Tis true, gentlemen, I might take an advantage of you; the king's money was in your pockets my sergeant was ready to take his oath you were listed; but I scorn to do a base thing; you are both of you at your liberty.

Cost. Thank you, noble captain. Icod, I can't find in my heart to leave him, he talks so finely.

Tho. Ay, Costar, would he always hold in this mind. Plume. Come, my lads, one thing more I'll tell you: you're both young tight fellows, and the army is the place to make you men for ever: every man has his lot, and you have yours. What think you of a purse of French gold out of a monsieur's pocket, after you have dashed out his brains with the butt end of your firelock, eh?

Cost. Wauns! I'll have it. Captain, give me a shilling; I'll follow you to the end of the world. Tho. Nay, dear Costar! do'na; be advised. Plume. Here, my hero; here are two guineas for thee, as earnest of what I'll do farther for thee. Tho. Do'na take it; do'na, dear Costar.

[Cries, and pulls back his arm. Cost. I wull, I wull. Waunds! my mind gives me that I shall be a captain myself: I take your money, sir, and now I am a gentleman.

Plume. Give me thy hand; and now you and I will travel the world o'er, and command it wherever we tread. Bring your friend with you, if you can.

[Aside.

Cost. Well, Tummas, must we part? Tho. No, Costar; I cannot leave thee. Come, captain, I'll e'en go along with you too; and if you have two honester simpler lads in your company than we two have been, I'll say no more.

Plume. Here, my lad. [Gives him money.] Now, your name?

Tho. Tummas Appletree.

Plume. And yours?

Cost. Costar Pearmain.

Plume. Well said, Costar. Born where?
Tho. Both in Herefordshire.

Plume. Very well. Courage, my lads. Now, we'll life, and the dispositions of ordinary men, was [Sings.] Over the hills and far away;

Courage, boys, it's one to ten
But we return all gentlemen;
While conquering colours we display,
Over the hills and far away.

Kite, take care of them.

[blocks in formation]

Both. I.

Scoundrels!

Kite. So you shall-in your guts. March, you [Beats them off. Among the other successful writers for the stage, may be instanced COLLEY CIBBER (1671-1757), an actor and manager, whose comedy, the Careless Husband, is still deservedly a favourite. Cibber was a lively amusing writer, and his Apology for his Life is one of the most entertaining autobiographies of the language. When Pope displaced Theobald, to install Cibber as hero of the Dunciad,' he suffered his judgment to be blinded by personal vindictiveness and prejudice. Colley Cibber was vain, foolish, and sometimes ridiculous, but never a dunce. SIR RICHARD STEELE was also a dramatic author, and obtained from George I. a patent, appointing him manager and governor of the royal company of comedians. Steele's play, the Conscious Lovers, combines moral instruction with amusement, but is rather insipid and languid both on and off the stage. The Distrest Mother, translated from Racine, was brought out by AMBROSE PHILIPS, the friend of Addison, and was highly successful. AARON HILL adapted the Zara of Voltaire to the English theatre, and wrote some original dramas, which entitled him, no less than his poems, to the niche he has obtained in Pope's 'Dunciad.' A more legitimate comic writer appeared in MRS SUSANNA CENTLIVRE (1667-1723), an Irish lady, whose life and writings were immoral, but who possessed considerable dramatic skill and talent. Her comedies, the Busy Body, The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret, and A Bold Stroke for a Wife, are still favourite acting plays. Her plots and incidents are admirably arranged for stage effect, and her characters well discriminated. Mrs Centlivre had been some time an actress, and her experience had been of service to her in writing for the stage.

[blocks in formation]

never before entertained either in England or elsewhere. In France, it must be allowed, the cele brated Montaigne had published in the sixteenth century a series of essays, of which manners formed the chief topic. Still more recently, La Bruyere, another French author, had published his Charac ters, in which the artificial life of the court of Louis XIV. was sketched with minute fidelity, and the most ingenious sarcasm. But it was now for the first time that any writer ventured to undertake a work, in which he should meet the public several times each week with a brief paper, either discussing some feature of society, or relating some lively tale, allegory, or anecdote.

[merged small][graphic][merged small]

Lieutenant of that kingdom. Through the duke's influence, Steele was placed at the Charter-house school in London, where a warm and long-continued friendship between him and Addison took its rise. He thence removed, in 1692, to Merton college, Oxford; but after spending several years in desultory study, became so enamoured of the military profession, that, in spite of the dissuasion of his friends, and his failure to procure an appointment, he enlisted as a private soldier in the horse-guards. In this step, by which the succession to a rela tion's estate in Wexford was lost, he gave a strik ing manifestation of that recklessness which unfor tunately distinguished him through life. In the army, his wit, vivacity, and good humour, speedily rendered him such a favourite, that the officers of his regiment, desirous to have him among themselves, procured for him the rank of an ensign. Thus situated, he plunged deeply into the fashionable follies and vices of the age, enlarging, however, by such conduct, that knowledge of life and character which proved so useful to him in the composition of his works. During this course of dissipation, being sometimes visited by qualms of conscience, he drew up, for the purpose of self-admonition, a small treatise entitled The Christian Hero, and afterwards pub. " lished it as a still more powerful check upon his | irregular passions. Yet it does not appear that even

[graphic]
« PreviousContinue »